


The One Where Eliot Receives a Gift

by LittleMissBrightside



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissBrightside/pseuds/LittleMissBrightside
Summary: It's Eliot's first birthday since Quentin died. He's struggling to strike a balance between moving on and grieving and he receives a gift that gives him temporary reprieve from having to choose.





	The One Where Eliot Receives a Gift

Eliot is startled awake. He can feel the edges of a dream quickly slipping away and desperately tries to cling to it but it’s no use. He swears he could feel the remnants of a hand gently pushing back his curls and placing a kiss on his forehead. It felt more real than any dream he’d had before. Reluctantly, he sits up and pulls back the covers but doesn’t leave the warmth of his bed just yet. He can hear his housemates moving around downstairs and who he assumes is Margo next door. He tries to rub the last bit of sleep from his eyes when he sees it. A neatly wrapped...something. Eliot frowns, wondering who it’s from and when they put it there. He feels a strange pull towards it, almost magical. Before he has the chance to reach for it, Margo appears in his doorway and the spell is broken.

“Happy Birthday bitch,” she says, smirking as she saunters into the room.

“Is this from you?” Eliot asks, pointing to the gift on his bed. He reaches for it but Margo pulls him up before he can touch it. He gives it one last curious look as she drags him out of the room.

“No time for that. You need to get ready,” she insists, threading a hand through his hair. “It’s gonna be your best birthday yet.” And Eliot almost believes her, he does. He frowns slightly, desperately trying to recall the dream from this morning and the phantom touch he’d felt. Margo misunderstands the expression and her face softens. “El,” she says as she lays a hand on his arm. “You tell me if you want to leave, okay? At any time. I need to know you’re okay. Every day, but especially today. We’re celebrating you. Nobody expects you to just…”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Eliot interrupts, thinking it’s too early for this conversation. He rests his hands on her shoulders briefly and smiles. “I’ll go get ready. Meet you downstairs soon.”

* * *

After a luxurious day of food, drinks, and the spa, Margo and Eliot head back to the cottage. They’ve invited their ragtag group of friends, frenemies, and almost but not quite friends over for drinks. It’s all pretty significant in different ways for all of them, being together, even though the person that binds them is no longer with them. Alice, Kady, Julia, Josh, and Penny all mingle with the other guests as Todd attempts to prepare the drinks. Eliot watches in amusement from where he’s seated on the couch.

It’s his first birthday since Quentin died and he’s not quite sure if it hurts more or less than he thought it would. Some days are easier than others. Some nights too. His dreams are most often filled with the sounds of clinking tiles and exasperated groans, the taste of peaches and plums, and the sight of precious Q with his floppy hair and soft lips. Those memories don’t hurt so much when he’s dreaming. It’s in the first moments of waking up that it hurts the most. When he has to remember all over again what he’s lost. He does his best to remind himself it’s just a symptom of truly loving another person. Even if that person never knew just how much. He tries not to be too hard on himself for that. Sometimes he even succeeds.

“Where’d you go just now?” Margo asks, suddenly appearing in front of Eliot. He vaguely wonders how long she’s been standing there trying to get his attention. When he doesn’t answer, she joins him on the couch.

On instinct, Eliot grabs her right hand in both of his. He avoids the question a moment longer by playing with her fingers. He clears his throat and ignores the annoyingly patient look he knows Margo is sending his way. He loves and only sometimes resents that they are so intuned that she knows when she should push and when she should just let it slide. Sometimes she seems to know what Eliot needs more than he knows that for himself.

“Just thinking,” he starts, mouth curling into a smile. “About the first time I saw Quentin stumbling across the lawn, disoriented and clueless. I think I felt it when we met, that he was special, but I didn’t know how or why. It’s funny how you never know just how much somebody is going to mean to you.” Eliot swallows past the lump in his throat, finally looking up at Margo. “I just wish he knew what he means to me.”

Margo squeezes his hands, looking right into his eyes. “Honey, you know I love you and would never lie to you to make you feel better. Quentin knew you loved him. And yeah, maybe your rejection did a number on him. Maybe he didn’t know how ass over heels you were for him. But he knew that you loved him.” Margo pauses, looking unsure if she should proceed. “Look at how hard he fought to get you back. That wasn’t just his love for you. That was the connection you shared, neither of you was alone in that.” She left it at that and cuddled in closer to him.

Eliot lets the quiet wash over them, barely aware of the gathering still happening around them. He feels a tug at his chest and is reminded of the gift he discovered this morning. He had asked Margo about it again earlier while they were out but she knew nothing of it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Eliot stands, still holding onto Margo as he turns to face her. “I’m going to lie down,” he says as he squeezes her hand gently, reassuring her. “I’m fine,” he promises, offering a small smile.

Her expression softens as she looks up at him. “Happy Birthday, Eliot.” She squeezes his hand one last time before letting go.

With a kiss on her forehead and a “thank you, Bambi,” Eliot makes his way to his room.

He sits down on his bed and holds the present in his lap. That magnet-like pull he felt earlier was still there and he can’t tell if it’s just the anticipation or if there was a magical component to it. He carefully unwraps the paper to find a blanket. A quilt, to be precise. It was made up of a unique pattern of squares, much like a mosaic. And it wasn’t just any quilt, but it was _the_ quilt. The same quilt he sat upon with Quentin where they shared their first of many kisses on the quest to retrieve the key to greater magic. The same quilt he used to cover Quentin and Teddy with after they had fallen asleep together on the daybed outside their cottage. If the beauty of all life could be contained in an object, for him it would be this. It has to be the quilt. He can feel it in his bones, even if he doesn’t understand how. He brings it up to his face and breathes in the scent of Fillory and chalk and something so inexplicably and uniquely..._Quentin_. He’s so overcome with emotion that he almost doesn’t notice the card that’s fallen to the floor. With a sigh, Eliot picks up the note with an elegantly inscribed E on the front. He opens it to find a few short sentences, some written and striked through.

<strike>Happy Birthday.</strike>

<strike>I’m sorry.</strike>

<strike>I forgive you.</strike>

Peaches and plums.

I love you.

-Q


End file.
